


solitary

by ivelostmyspectacles



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Blood Kink, Fantasizing, Gloves, Masturbation, Multi, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 17:05:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16538678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/ivelostmyspectacles
Summary: He has to stifle a laugh at the thought of Trevor’s face if only he knew Alucard’s mind was straying topleasuring himselfin the Belmont Hold. He isn’t sure if it’s that which causes him ultimately to flick the button on his trousers open, but he’s already gone far enough not to care.Alternately titledWhat Else is Alucard Gonna Do with that Solitude Except Fantasize About the Threesome He Wants to Havebut this is a fic, not a fall out boy songedit: now with illustration!





	solitary

Alucard thinks it’ll be a cold day in hell before he admits it to the man who had bequeathed it upon him, but the Belmont Hold is… _interesting,_ now that he’s had the time to start going through it.

Nothing’s really changed; it’s still a museum dedicated to the extermination of vampires purely for the sake _of_ exterminating vampires, but… it’s more than that. There’s plenty to sort through and absorb. A fair bit of it isn’t even about killing vampires, Alucard has found with some surprise. A lot of it is magic, words that flow over his skin like water and when he reaches down to touch the pages, finds that they feel of more than mere paper and ink. Sypha had been correct: the hold contained a trove of information, and lives would be richer for having it all written down.

As for _whose_ lives, well… Alucard tries not to dwell on it. When he visits the hold, he tries to be more… human. He tries, for his mother, and for Sypha and Trevor, too.

Sprawled out in front of a bookcase, he’s collected a small pile of books between his legs and feet. There are too many to read at once, but he seems to be incapable of only settling with one. These four shelves are filled with tomes about the occult, about _witchcraft,_ and they’ve spilled from his lap to the floor to surround him. Alucard stretches and yawns, breathes in the scent of old parchment and dust. Again, not that he will admit it, but the hold is starting to feel like something of a home. A quiet one. A lonely one.

He passes a gloved hand over the detailed cover of a particular volume, and then allows his shoulders to slump in a sigh. There is only so much to do, albeit the days he’s spent in this spot, reading. He wonders how much time has passed.

Humans… what did _humans_ do? What did _Trevor_ do, in this place, when he were younger? Alucard can scarcely imagine him doing _anything,_ here, surrounded by books and knowledge that a young child couldn’t have been able to understand.

And Sypha, she hadn’t had a normal childhood, either. While Alucard _can_ picture her with tomes at her fingertips– or, at the very least, sitting studiously as the Elders taught her– it’s… much the same. Alucard can’t picture _either_ of them having a childhood, which remains to be disturbing because _he_ remembers his own childhood fondly.

Years ago, now. What was he supposed to do at present? The inescapable question.

Human…

Well, he can think of _one_ thing humans did. Flashbacks to the nights on the way from Gresit to the hold itself when he had caught Trevor with his pants around his ankles– metaphorically speaking. His cock in hand.

The first time had been an accident, when he had wondered why the hunter had snuck away from their wagon. He’d wondered, then, if he had been _running away_. But now Alucard still smirks at the reminder of how the man had flown into a flustered rage. The second, Trevor hadn’t left camp, apparently having thought everyone asleep until Alucard had, without moving, hissed _“Belmont”_ into the silence and Trevor had panicked so loudly that even Sypha had woken.

Amusing times, he thinks. His smile soon falters.

… he misses them. So very human. He misses the banter and their own way of caring, and the way Trevor’s presence had been a solid one against his body and Sypha’s hands had been delicate and gentle against his skin when the nights had been cold and the blankets sparing and they had been forced to huddle for warmth. When _they_ had talked _him_ into huddling for warmth, with no other benefit to him except the press of companionship around him. He had gone, begrudgingly at first, and then willingly, and now… now he misses the press of their bodies and the smell of their skin and he doesn’t know quite what to do with himself with the continued absence of it.

But then, no; he does know. He does. He _has._ Alucard smooths the palm of his hand against his thigh, and then passes the heel of it against the growing interest at the front of his trousers. What humans did…

He has to stifle a laugh at the thought of Trevor’s face if only he knew Alucard’s mind was straying to _pleasuring himself_ in the Belmont Hold. He isn’t sure if it’s that which causes him ultimately to flick the button on his trousers open, but he’s already gone far enough not to care.

Alucard will let himself miss them, and he’ll let himself be human. The point of this, after all… to embrace both sides of himself. And perhaps, to think of the both of them embracing both sides of him, too. Literally, even.

 _Especially,_ he thinks, and nudges fabric and belts out of the way with the back of his hand. He has his prick in hand before he is reminded of his gloves, but he can’t be bothered to remove them; it’s a sensation he’s yet to experience, anyway, and the leather is cool and smooth against his skin. Alucard hisses out a breath and squeezes along the shaft. Squeezes, and sweeps a thumb over the head of his cock. The pass of leather is unfamiliar, but not unforgiving. He feels his heart stutter in his chest as he strokes the wetness collecting at his slit along his palm.

… the Belmonts, then. _Trevor._ Alucard isn’t positive he wants to know what he thinks about when he’s jacking it off, but for now he thinks he wouldn’t _mind_ if Trevor thought about _him_. Maybe he _does._ And maybe Alucard lets himself think of Trevor’s hands, large and calloused, settling over his shoulders, pressed flat against his chest. Sliding down to his hips and thumbs pressing fleeting bruises to pale skin. His mouth against Alucard’s, rough and hungry and hot like fire. He could burn him to the core, and Alucard inhales sharply, and he thinks he’d _like_ that.

The fire’s already there, simmering low beneath his skin. He pumps his cock faster, breathes over the friction and the _desire._ Then he raises his hand to his lips to spit into his palm, smearing saliva and precome along the rest of his glove. It shines in the flickering light of the torches burning in the hold, and then Alucard returns his hand to himself.

He wonders what Trevor’s hand would feel like, wrapped around his length. He wonders what Trevor’s cock would feel like, pressed into his ass. He pretends his hand isn’t his own, and he pretends to feel the phantom ache at his entrance and promises himself he’ll test the experience for himself, later, when he does this _again–_

Oh yes, again.

And then there’s Sypha, and the contrast between her and Belmont is almost _dizzying._ Softer, more delicate, _feminine._ Women were so very unlike men, supple curves and gentle touches. The soft caress of Sypha’s hands against his body, stroking over biceps, between the dips and valleys of his abdominal muscles. Feather light, teasing. The heat of magic beneath her fingertips, replaced by ice replaced by fire replaced by ice. On and on. The drag of magical sensation, and lips that could soothe the ache left by the bites Trevor would have placed upon his body–

The moan startles him. He settles his free hand against his mouth, leather on his lips. His chest heaves. He doesn’t have to be silent, now, but he’s inclined to it. But… no… he’s alone. If only the solitude benefits _this,_ Alucard can allow himself to give into the pleasure. _Human._ So charmingly human.

He shudders at the thought of _humans,_ of his two humans coming back to his home. Greeting them in the foyer, hands against skin and fingers deft on clothing. Sypha undressing him. Trevor undressing _her._ The three of them, flesh warming against flesh and fingers pulling at hair and between lips and tongues licking at skin and salt and sweat. The taste of them in his mouth. The weight of Trevor’s prick pressed down against his tongue. Licking his fingertips clean after having them two knuckles deep _into_ Sypha, and the noises the three of them made in tandem.

Alucard bites down on his glove. It’s not to stifle the moan, but moreso to have _something_ in his mouth. Between his teeth. On his tongue. His head hits hard against the shelf behind him. A book clatters and falls, a moment of sensation as it bounces off his shoulder and the groan is surprise and exertion alike.

He wants something… _needs_ something. Like humans do, to chase away the ache at the base of his cock. It builds higher and higher as he edges towards orgasm, but then– it’s something else, too, something buried beneath the ache in his jaw and below his teeth and Alucard thinks of the taste of Trevor and Sypha’s _blood_ on his lips, wet and warm and sliding down his throat.

His hips snap forward as release takes him. Almost by storm, the crackle of electricity in the air and Trevor’s laughter behind his ear. He vibrates through the orgasm, frozen with his hand still on his dick. The cry that escapes him is mostly a whine, as the throbbing in his groin subsides and he can instead focus on the pain now blossoming in his fingers. It takes him a minute to realize he’s bitten _through_ his gloves, puncture wounds on the leather when he removes his hand to look at it.

“Shit,” he breathes, and winces as he presses his tongue against the back of his teeth. Everything has coalesced and settled, and it’s all gone straight to his fangs. He’s thirsty. He needs _blood._

He is, as ever, half vampire.

It takes only a moment to clean the release from his gloves, plucking a handkerchief from the interior pocket of his jacket. That, too, brings a flicker of emotion, as it was gifted to him by Sypha herself, before she had left. A fond reminder. Fitting, in this moment, and Alucard cleans between his fingers with the fabric before tucking it away again.

The rest of the mess… Alucard casts a glance to the books, discarded now, still scattered about him. That can wait. It will wait, as he runs the tip of his tongue over a fang. There’s still stores of animal blood within the castle, and he’s not in the mood for a hunt. Not for _that_ kind, anyway. In his head, he still turns over the idea of drinking from Sypha and Trevor, and he thinks, _maybe._ Maybe, when they return. Maybe one day.

 _Next time,_ he promises. So many plans for next time.

Hunger awakened, Alucard starts back for his castle.

**Author's Note:**

> and here's the masturbation fic no one asked for
> 
> hahh I'll be honest I just really wanted to write Alu jacking it in the hold while wearing those beautiful beautiful gloves ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> EDIT: [now with a gorgeous (NSFW) fanart commission by kokokosir!](https://twitter.com/kokokoart18/status/1085702858228428800)


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